


Entwined

by orphan_account



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blindfolds, Bottom Hector, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotionally constipated characters, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Forgehusbands, Forgemasters up to no good, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Rope Bondage, Sensory Deprivation, Shibari, Smut, Temperature Play, Top Isaac, ignores the existence of Carmilla, lots and lots of feelings, rope top Isaac, setting: season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Tell me, little cub. Do you remember what else we agreed to?” He hooks his chin over Hector’s shoulder, making his skin prickle with the ticklish sensation as his warm breath fans into his hair. It‘s not like Isaac personally needs the reminder. It is merely to assure himself that Hector understands the rules to their little game and no more than that.“All of it?” Hector squirms a little, straining to accommodate as Isaac folds his arms over the small of his back. The prolonged silence is as close to a confirmation as he’s going to receive. Isaac straps him in just a little more firmly for wasting his time with such an obvious question.Hector sucks in a nervous breath. “I shall not speak unless spoken to, nor will I look at you directly unless you are speaking to me.”“And?” Isaac prods, his fingers tightening around the rope.“And I shall not make noise. I will remain as still as possible no matter how difficult it gets. Should I break any of these rules then the consequences are my own,” he hastily adds.-------------------------------Hector wants Isaac to teach him about self-control... Isaac might know a way to train him.
Relationships: Hector/Isaac, Hector/Isaac (Castlevania), Hector/Isaac Laforeze
Comments: 11
Kudos: 77





	Entwined

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to Despommes, Alikuu and BlindWolfGrasshopper for beta-ing for me and helping me pull through. Wouldn't know what else to do without your unwavering love and support 😭💗
> 
> Recommended fics:  
> [The Undimmed Light- Isaac/Hector post-S3 fix-it](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23133667/chapters/55358563)  
> [Would That I- modern au Alucard/Hector](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23616130/chapters/56674912)  
> [Immolation- post-S3 Alucard/Hector](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23584846/chapters/56589388)

“Remind me again why we’re doing this,” Hector mutters as Isaac runs a rope between his legs. 

“Because,” Isaac starts, pulling the red length of jute taut, causing it to sink between his cheeks “you were in need of my work. You asked me to teach you about self-control and so I offered my services. That is what you wanted, is it not?” he asks with one eyebrow raised in question.

Hector wants to open his mouth in protest but whatever retort he had mentally prepared dies prematurely on his tongue. It is so like Isaac to talk him into a corner like that. No matter how clever Hector thinks himself to be, Isaac has always had this uncanny ability to think three steps ahead of him, paired with an immeasurable talent for deflection. It is a quality that he still hasn’t been able to master to this day. Eventually, he resigns himself to something simple and upfront. 

“I still don’t see how that requires me to be naked and bound, especially when _you_ get to keep all of your clothes on,” he huffs and makes a fruitless effort to blow a stray curl from his face. 

His eyes carefully assess the strategically applied rope that binds his thighs to his calves, bending his legs into a kneeled position. The binding feels soft against him—almost comfortable—and is secured tight enough to dig just slightly into his skin. No doubt for some aesthetically pleasing effect that only Isaac can see the appeal of. Isaac ignores his colleague‘s remark in favor of focusing on a particularly complicated knot, his brow drawn low in concentration. 

It’s not like Isaac hasn’t been honest with him, but he knows better than to approach a wary creature like Hector directly. He always needed to be gently coaxed into new endeavors ever since the first day of his arrival. This was no exception. 

“Have I given you reason not to trust me?” he asks. The slightly aggravated sting to his tone does not go unnoticed and some ingrained reflex causes Hector to tense up momentarily. He swallows and manages not to flinch away from the firm hand that caresses his throat, fingers stroking up and down the skin possessively. He sucks in a sharp breath as Isaac’s hand glides over his adam's apple, under his jaw, guiding, craning his head back for him to peer up and into his eyes. Isaac’s stare is hard like iron and nearly sharp enough to cut. Hector struggles not to cower away from it. 

“No,” he croaks, tongue working against the sudden dryness in his mouth. He steels his body against the instinctive need to bend his head back further and offer his throat in a display of submission, gripped by the uncertainty whether Isaac would think to sink his teeth in or not.

“Have I not taken good care of you, Hector? Am I hurting you or causing you physical discomfort?” Hector shakes his head in answer, eyes wide and unblinking like a startled doe. His mind briefly flits back to the padded mat that cushions his kneecaps from the metal grates, an obvious token of Isaac’s kindness considering he might as well not have bothered with the effort. Isaac sighs at him through his nose, exasperated and slowly growing impatient with his need to argue. 

“Initially, I decided against gagging you. But I might still change my mind if you continue on like this. Is that what you want?” 

Hector shakes his head again, content with the illusion that he might still have some semblance of control over the situation. A single corner of Isaac’s mouth quirks up in a crooked smile. It is a sight as rare as it is unsettling, knowing that it’s not entirely free of malice, yet Hector cannot find the courage to look away from it. 

Hector instinctively closes his eyes against the velvet feel of lips pressing onto his forehead, warm and softer than any man's lips have a right to be. A wave of gooseflesh ripples down his spine at the intimate contact. He bites his lip against the embarrassing keening noise that bubbles and froths around his vocal cords, the pain managing to distract him briefly. 

"I have shown you nothing but kindness. Do not make me regret it, _little cub_ ," Isaac murmurs against his skin. Despite the softness of his tone there is no denying the underlying threat to his words. It stings him just a little, knowing that Isaac would freely use the pet name to remind him of his place.

Hector clears his throat. "I won't," he rasps. "I'll remain subservient, just like we agreed I would." The answering kiss that he receives takes him wholly by surprise. Isaac’s mouth might’ve tasted every inch of his skin by now, but a kiss to the lips is still something he receives on Isaac’s terms alone. The entire gesture feels like a _good boy, Hector_ , some small part of him knows this, but he cannot find the will to protest when the taste of it is so luxurious on his tongue.

A pleased noise slips from his lips, muffled against the pressure of Isaac’s mouth. His breath leaves him in a hitched gasp, cut off from his stupor by an experimental tug on the ropes that snake around his torso. Some of it crisscrosses deliberately over his hardening cock, adding pressure and friction as the bindings dig into his front. He fights down the urge to chase after Isaac’s lips when he pulls away, knowing that it will do him no favors.

“Very good,” Isaac croons. “You are holding up better than I thought,” he speaks to him softly while cupping his face. Isaac’s hand slowly glides down his front, fingers mapping out the contours of his own handiwork, savoring, appreciating. There is a row of diamond-shaped figures that run from his breastbone to his groin. The rest of it wraps around his waist like a corset, snug and form-fitting to enhance the lean lines of his body. The dark red of the rope was a deliberate choice on Isaac’s part, complimenting the warm undertones and accentuating the flush to his skin. 

“Tell me, little cub. Do you remember what else we agreed to?” He hooks his chin over Hector’s shoulder, making his skin prickle with the ticklish sensation as his warm breath fans into his hair. It‘s not like Isaac personally needs the reminder. It is merely to assure himself that Hector understands the rules to their little game and no more than that.

“All of it?” Hector squirms a little, straining to accommodate as Isaac folds his arms over the small of his back. The prolonged silence is as close to a confirmation as he’s going to receive. Isaac straps him in just a little more firmly for wasting his time with such an obvious question.

Hector sucks in a nervous breath. “I shall not speak unless spoken to, nor will I look at you directly unless you are speaking to me.”

“And?” Isaac prods, his fingers tightening around the rope.

“And I shall not make noise. I will remain as still as possible no matter how difficult it gets. Should I break any of these rules then the consequences are my own,” he hastily adds.

“Do I have your word that you fully agree to these conditions?” Isaac does not look at him as he busies himself with the intricate pattern of knots that runs along his arms, yet Hector can feel his eyes bore into him all the same.

He swallows thickly, adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. “Yes, you have my consent.”

“Thank you.” It is spoken so softly against his ear that Hector nearly doesn’t catch it. 

A pregnant silence settles over them as the gravity behind those words sinks in, wrapped within the unspoken promise that his compliance will not be taken for granted or used against him. A sign of respect between generals and fellow forgemasters, equals.

"Remember, simply snap your fingers. I will stop whatever it is that I'm doing and will check in with you immediately," he tells him as he ties off the last knot and straightens to his full height with a small grunt, fingers easing the stiffness from his hands.

“I know. I trust that you will,” he assures him while craning his head back, leaning into the touch as Isaac’s hand comes to lace through his hair. Short, trimmed fingernails lightly drag over his scalp, fingers applying a deliberate amount of pressure as they massage his head. Before Hector can think better of it his eyes slide to a close, lips parting ever so slightly as he softens under Isaac’s touch. 

_It is nearly too easy to get him to drop his guard_ , Isaac thinks. Especially if one knows which strings to pull. His need for contact being just one of many. Isaac likens it to a chain reaction. Starting at the minute point at his skull where it slowly seeps into his spine until his body grows heavy and boneless. Like a tightly wound coil that gradually unfurls at the mercy of Isaac’s clever ministrations.

His cheek and shoulder shamelessly slump against Isaac’s hip, his spine and legs bending as much to the side as the ropes will allow him. Judging by the tranquil expression on his face he looks like he could stay there indefinitely, hovering in this space of docile compliance. It is nearly _too_ easy to unwind him just so Isaac can wrap him around his own fingers.

“I hope you’re not expecting me to give you _belly rubs_ next,” Isaac tells him and Hector cannot make out whether he’s being sarcastic, annoyed, or both. 

“Ssssorry,” he slurs as he pulls away with a start, his tongue obviously having grown lax with how he allowed his inhibitions to slip. A mild sense of dread settles in his stomach at the thought that he did something to displease Isaac. Like a child that can’t quite grasp why their parents are mad at them, they just know that it’s their fault that they are. His eyes are glued to the floor as he feels too nervous to meet Isaac’s gaze. His teeth anxiously worry over his bottom lip.

Hector hears the rustle of fabric as Isaac pops his collar open, the heavy thud of weighted leather colliding with metal as his forgemaster’s breastplate is lowered onto the grates. 

Isaac circles around him with measured strides, arms hooked behind his back, his heavy-lidded stare intense enough to sear into his skin as he studies him from every angle, pondering his next move. Hector wants to shrink away from it, to cower into a corner with how exposed it makes him feel.

He keeps his eyes rooted to the floor when Isaac kneels in front of him, the terms of their agreement still freshly ingrained in his memory. His muscles tense. He tries not to jerk away from Isaac’s thigh when it slots between his legs and deliberately presses against his straining member.

Isaac’s mouth is hot and searing against his neck, tongue sliding easily as he runs a stripe across his throat. Sound not allowed, Hector clenches his jaw against the feeling of soft lips pressing kiss after kiss to his skin. His nails dig little half-moon indentations into his palms, knuckles going bone white as Isaac occasionally stops to suck a quickly purpling bruise into his neck and around his collarbones, decorating his body in the trophies of their coupling. Each mark on his skin a claim, a blatant sign of ownership. 

Brilliant white teeth sink into the junction between his neck and shoulder, catching him by surprise, causing him to barely hold back a heated groan. His resolve crumbles and Hector fails miserably to keep his hips from quaking. He moans weakly at the pressure against his cock and grinds against the firm muscles of Isaac’s clothed leg. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Isaac berates him, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “And you were doing so well at first. I expected better from you.” His voice failing to mask the underlying notes of disappointment. 

“S-sorry,” he stutters. He does not meet Isaac’s eyes. Locks of silver hair fall into his face to hide the deepening blush on his cheeks. “What are you going to do to me?” He feels nearly too nervous to ask but reasons with himself that he’d rather know what he’s up against.

Isaac does not grace him with a direct answer and Hector cannot tell if that was a deliberate choice to set him even more on edge or not. Isaac draws away from him, legs unfolding with a subtle pop of his joints. Hector bites his cheek to suppress the needy whine that burns in his throat. He struggles against his bonds, frustrated with the loss of contact and body heat. 

“Do you know why I do not discipline through pain, Hector?” he asks, arms clasped behind his back as if Hector were a study subject for him to dissect.

Hector’s brow furrows, lost in thought as he flips the question over in his head. 

“It’s inefficient,” he concludes. “It dulls the senses after a while and loses the desired effect.”

“Smart boy,” Isaac praises, eyes widening minutely as he notices the instant effect it has on the other man, his expression gaining just a little more confidence, posture straightening ever so slightly. _Interesting_ , he files that little piece away, saves it for later.

“I have found that the most efficient way to get a training subject to yield is through denial.” 

Hector wrinkles his nose and briefly wonders if he could still barter for a lashing instead, preferring the comfort of something old and familiar over the uncertainty of new and uncharted territory. It wasn't by Isaac's hand, but pain was something he had indeed grown intimately familiar with over the brief course of his life.

Isaac’s mouth quirks into a half-smile and the sight of it fills Hector with cold dread. “You will find that it is quite self-explanatory.”

The implication makes Hector’s stomach churn with sour apprehension. He fights down the indignant need to protest when Isaac turns away from him, knowing it would be pointless. 

Isaac drags a chair from behind his forging slab, a piece of scripture tucked under his arm as he crosses one leg over the other with little ceremony. 

“I will let you know when your time is up,” he mutters to the pages in front of him, eyes glancing just over the top to meet his blue gaze. 

“So you’re going to treat me like a child?” Hector barks at him. 

“In a manner of speaking,” Isaac replies flatly. “Are you going to act like one?”

Hector clamps his mouth shut, knowing when he’s been driven into a corner.

Seconds turn into minutes and Hector tries to busy himself with anything but the state of his legs; they sting with the lack of blood flow, his knees are slowly growing tired and sore. He contemplates with himself whether he should be grateful for the distraction that it provides from the aching erection between his legs. In the end, he stubbornly decides against it.

Hector catches the rare glimpse of exposed skin on Isaac’s chest and neck from the corner of his eye, revealing part of his pleasingly symmetrical tattoos. Despite being unfamiliar with the urge to adorn his own body in such a manner, he never claimed that he couldn’t appreciate the appeal of it on others. He strains his neck just a little and peers over the edge of Isaac’s papers to get a better look. 

His eyes glide over the broad expanse of Isaac’s pectorals, unabashed in his sampling now that the other man is not looking. His gaze lingers at the twin set of wide, muscular shoulders. Hector licks his lips and imagines what it would feel like to have those shoulders pressed against him. He thinks of Isaac’s strong arms pinning him down as he ruthlessly fucks him against the wall, his face scraping against the rough surface and a clenched fist in his hair, their cries loud enough to drown out the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. His cock jerks against his bindings as he lets the fantasy play out in his head. 

“Did you really think that I would not notice you staring?” Isaac points out sharply. He does not miss the way Hector jumps a little at the sudden cut of his voice. 

Isaac prides himself that his time spent in Dracula’s castle did not dull his senses. During his days in the desert he was no stranger to the corrupt individuals who tried and failed to kill him for parts. He had to grow eyes in the back of his head in order to survive. Living amongst bloodthirsty vampires was no different.

“I-I… um,” Hector nervously mutters. A suffocating heat washes over him, his body suddenly becoming too hot for him to live in. He feels absolutely mortified with how easily Isaac managed to catch him in the act and in the middle of such a lewd fantasy nonetheless. He shifts his weight around uncomfortably and lowers his head in an attempt to hide his flustered expression. 

“I have been lenient with you so far. The rules have been clear from the start,” he tells him as he presents Hector with the length of red silk in his hands, its intended purpose simple, obvious. 

Hector swallows dryly as he meets Isaac’s gaze and nods. “Alright.” Try as he might, he cannot find it in him to think of Isaac as being unfair. He was not supposed to look, he knows that, yet he decided to risk it anyway. Isaac was merely holding up his end of the agreement.

The fabric gives way just enough for it to fit around his head comfortably. Isaac secures it with two fingers slipped under the material, ensuring that it doesn’t sit too tight. He briefly waves his hand in front of Hector’s face, his lack of a response confirming that the other man really can’t see him, leaving him helpless without the ability to see or move.

Hector doesn’t need to see, however, to know that a steady pool of pre-cum has been gathering on his belly, his neglected cock red and angry where it rests like a heavy weight against his stomach. His skin feels overheated and sticky with the thin layer of sweat that coats it. The occasional tremors that ripple through his legs betraying his growing struggle with the bonds that bind him. Isaac _nearly_ takes pity on him.

“Can you tell what this is?” Isaac asks him while seemingly retrieving something from his forging station. He carefully presses it to Hector’s lips, slowly as to not spook him. It feels long and thin, roughly the thickness of a broomstick and tapering down towards the end. The material is cold and glass-like against his mouth. It tastes like water on his lips where it melts against his skin.

Hector licks the wetness from his chin, pink tongue darting out to catch the rivulets of moisture. “Ice. It’s ice.” He turns his head in the direction of Isaac’s voice. “A naturally formed icicle, if I had to be more precise.”

“Very good. Can you guess what I intend to use it for?” Hector’s mind supplies him the half-smirk Isaac must be carrying while he says it, the same one he always wears when he has something mildly dubious in mind. 

“I doubt I’d like to find out,” Hector tells him, his face wrinkling as if he just tasted something sour instead of water. “You know I dislike the—” A sharp gasp cuts him off. It feels slick and frigid against his skin where Isaac pressed it to his neck without warning. His spine goes rigid against the urge to pull away, shoulders trembling with the effort.

Blunt fingertips cup his chin as Isaac slowly starts to glide the icicle across his skin, its penetrating sting dulling to something that is nearly pleasant as his body adjusts to the sensation. It is in fact vaguely soothing, Hector is loath to admit, depending on which nerve endings are stimulated. Isaac trails a wet path to the nape of his neck, cooling the feverish surface there and Hector nearly moans at the soothing cold that it provides.

A contented sigh falls from his lips when Isaac gently tilts his head back and starts running it across the hard ridges of his collarbones. Hector can sense that Isaac is near, his breath a cool gust where it fans out over the dewy trail that glistens atop his skin. He bites his lip against the decisive swipe of a tongue as it laps up the gathering moisture there, tracing along the delicate hollow of his clavicle.

Isaac is relentless in the exploration of his body. He maps Hector out with the patience and skill of a cartographer as he exploits each sensitive area his mind can conjure, as unflinching in the pursuit of Hector’s undoing as he is with everything he dedicates himself to. His ears and eyes are piqued for the smallest signs that could give Hector away. A hitch of breath as he rolls the blunt end over a rosy nipple. The unchecked twitch of muscle that spans over Hector’s ribs. The flutter of his lower stomach as Isaac teases the ticklish skin there. A startled hiss as he draws it over the soft tissue of Hector’s inner thigh. 

Isaac drags his teeth over the pronounced wings of his pelvis, the icicle left forgotten somewhere against the metal grates. Hector’s lips part on a silent whine, swollen and pink with how he’s been biting at them. His back arches as Isaac worries the skin there, hips tilting forward as Isaac litters him with more love bites to match the ones in his neck. 

Hector wants to beg, to plead with Isaac to untie him so he can _touch_ , to draw him close so he can feel the heat of his skin on his own. He chokes back the hiccupping sob that sits heavy in his throat, recalling in some backwater part of his mind that he was not given permission to speak.

"What is it, sweet boy?" Isaac tilts his head to face him. "You seem distressed," his voice is calm, soothing with a note of concern that feels not entirely fabricated.

"Please," Hector breathes, high strung and teary. "Just… _kiss me_ . I…” His mouth tries to work itself around the words. ”I need you _closer_ … I need to feel you. _Please_."

Isaac supposes he could do that. A small reward for his good behavior. He hooks an arm around Hector’s waist and grasps at the ropes to gently pull him in the cradle of his lap, knees hiked up to press his younger colleague flush to his chest. Hector squirms a little against him, suddenly hyper-aware of the rigid outline of Isaac’s clothed cock between his legs. A firm hand settles over his hip, thumb massaging over the rounded bone there. A silent reminder for him to keep still, to obey the rules they agreed upon, Isaac’s free hand following swiftly, guiding Hector’s lips to find his own. 

Taking his blindfolded state in mind, Isaac carefully brushes their lips together and waits for Hector to close the distance between them. The first tentative press of his mouth is timid, clumsy, as if he half expects to be chided for his actions. Hector forgets to breathe entirely until Isaac is merciful enough to return the kiss, his body deflating with a deep sigh of relief. It is like an itch he never quite knew how to scratch, an urge he never knew needed fulfilling until Isaac willingly gave it to him. Hector is unsure if he ever wants it to end.

He boldly nips at Isaac’s lips, tongue gliding over the seam of them to ask for permission, seeking entrance. A tiny gasp escapes him when Isaac lets him, opens up for him to explore his wet heat. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to Isaac’s lips, and takes in the taste of him— strong, healthy and so, so alive that it nearly burns him and hollows him out. 

Isaac reaches for the not-quite-so-forgotten icicle blindly, his hand gripping around the cold, slippery surface of it. Hector gasps into Isaac’s mouth as it’s pressed against his spine, the tip centered between his shoulder blades. He nearly whines and tucks his face against Isaac’s neck as if he’s trying to create distance between himself and the frigid object in the other man’s palm. 

“Won’t you be good for me a little longer, Hector?” Isaac murmurs into his ear, his cheek brushing against his silver hair in a deliberate gesture of affection. “You’ve been doing so well until now. Not a single noise or unwarranted word from your lips.”

Hector’s face burns brightly at the praise. He sucks in a deep breath and answers with a tense nod, bracing himself for whatever is next to come. 

Slowly, Isaac resumes trailing a path down his back, the ice moving easily as it melts over his skin. Hector presses himself closer to Isaac the lower he goes, but only minutely so, enough for Isaac to dismiss it. He stops right at the crevice of Hector’s ass, gripped by a sudden mental image that piques his interest. He dips the now blunted tip of it a little between Hector’s cheeks, just an inch to give the other man a taste. 

He draws the tip of it in experimental circles around Hector’s entrance and carefully observes the other man’s reactions, his face scrunched in a confused expression as if he can’t decide to thrust or flinch away from it. Isaac contemplates his options. He pictures the strained look in Hector’s eyes as the ice slips into his body. He imagines him squirming in his lap, hips grinding against his rigid cock as he penetrates him shallowly, his strained cries loud enough to echo through the caverns of his forge. 

A tiny pained noise worms its way past Hector’s lips and makes Isaac abruptly decide against it, the idea pulled out at the root and discarded before he can act upon it. He values Hector's blind trust too much to cause him true discomfort.

“What would you say if we forgo this little game?” Isaac murmurs. “We can pick things up where we left them next time.” 

“Next time,” Hector parrots, a little dazed. “I think I would like that,” he tells him after a moment’s contemplation. “What did you have in mind?” he raises his head and turns in the direction of Isaac’s face, blinded eyes searching from behind the red silk on instinct. 

“So eager,” Isaac smirks while toying a silver curl between his fingers. “I could take you to bed,” a brush of lips against his ear “lay you down between the soft pillows,” a flick of tongue against his neck “and show you all the ways in which I’ve been wanting to ruin you. How does that sound?” He runs a thumb along Hector’s swollen lips and watches his blush deepen to a beautiful shade of red. 

Isaac nearly chokes when Hector takes the digit in his mouth, tongue working around it, cheeks hollowing like he would when sucking a cock. The simple act floods Isaac’s mind with an abundance of images, memories of the times he woke up with Hector in his bed, head tucked between his legs and his full lips enveloping the girth of his morning erection. He thinks back to the times Hector kneeled in front of him, to how he fell into submission so sweetly, so naturally. His blue eyes sliding to a close as he took him into his mouth. 

“Please. Please, Isaac,” Hector’s voice reaches him through the blood roaring in his ears. 

Isaac licks his lips. He swallows thickly before schooling his expression to something more neutral. The sound of it is loud within the silence of his forge.

“How are your legs? Do you think you could walk if I were to untie you?” Hector turns his head away from him, a pensive look worries his face as if he’s choosing his words carefully.

“It hurts,” he sounds reluctant to admit it, perhaps even embarrassed. Isaac does not think to pry any further, having made up his mind on the matter already.

Isaac picks him up and carries him in his arms bridal style. He pointedly ignores Hector’s mumbled words of protest, knowing them to be only token acts of resistance as he moves him to his private rooms.

The silk sheets feel cool beneath his skin as Isaac lowers him down on the mattress. Hector squints his eyes as the blindfold comes off, blinking rapidly as they adjust to the dim light of Isaac’s room. Upon his first time arriving here, Hector was astounded to find that Isaac’s space wasn’t just as spartan as his forge. Now, he feels grateful that his colleague clearly appreciates some of the finer things in life. 

With a few controlled movements of his dagger, Isaac cuts him loose from his bonds. The mattress dips as he sits down beside him. A comfortable silence settles over them as Isaac diligently works some of the stiffness from his muscles; a less than pleasant side-effect of being restrained for such a long time. It is still something Hector hasn’t quite grown used to, to have someone’s personal care and attention directed at him like that. It is strangely intimate, comforting and nearly enough to drown out the whimpering need, the burning arousal that howls at him as if it were a living thing.

He reaches for Isaac then, blindly. His breath staggers in his throat as his wrist is snatched in a firm hold. His heavy-lidded eyes lock with Isaac’s; despite the iron grip his posture seems relaxed, non-threatening, a spare length of rope loosely secured in his other hand. Hector nods at him, his partner’s intent becoming clear as he moves to straddle his chest and Hector welcomes it, soaks him up like a sponge as his weight pushes him into the bed. The way his calloused fingers hold his wrists together, worn from years of forging. The silken feeling of the rope as it weaves an intricate pattern along the lower half of his arms, pulling the muscles taut as they are tied and secured above his head.

“Isaac, please.” He doesn’t even know what he is pleading for anymore, but he would put himself one hundred times over through the humiliation of begging if it would quell his anxiety from snapping at his ankles like a bloodhound. He fears, in some dark and irrational part of his mind, that all of _this_ could be snatched away from him, pulled from underneath his feet like a rug if he doesn’t give voice to his desires somehow. He fears that Isaac might come to one day and realize that he was never deserving of the care and devotion bestowed upon him. How could he, when not even the people who brought him into this world deigned him worthy of it?

“What is it, little cub?” Isaac’s voice cuts through the fog in his head, banishing the tendrils that cling to his psyche like a cold mist. He bends over Hector to murmur directly to his ear. “What do you need?” The hand that gently caresses his face nearly burns him.

Hector blinks rapidly, squinting away the tears that roll over his temples and into his hairline. He gapes as he tries to make sense of the words that whirl in his mind like a maelstrom. 

“You,” he tells him as it is because it’s the only way he knows how to make sense of it. He wants Isaac, wants the way he teeters between cold brutality and unwavering loyalty. He wants him for the way he burns with a passion so hot it could melt the skin off if one steps too close. He wants all of this man, fully for who he is and not in spite of it.

Hector swallows and nervously wets his lips. “I need _you_. Please.”

“Then you shall have me.” Isaac hides his smile against the curve of his neck, the impression embedded into his skin like a brand mark. He rights himself where he sits and slowly unbuttons his robes, gradually revealing more of his dark skin as he shucks himself out of the garment. He watches idly as Hector pulls against his restraints. 

Hector wants nothing more than to reach out, to trace his fingers over the delicate bones of Isaac’s ribs, to map out the contours of his stomach and curl his fingers over his narrow hips, but none of that is possible without the use of his hands. He whines pathetically, a fruitless effort to tell him just how difficult his situation is. Isaac does not acknowledge his sputtering, his face an unreadable mask aside from the slight raise of his brow.

Isaac shifts them around until he’s comfortably seated between Hector’s legs. A hand hooks itself under his knee, pulling his leg up until it folds against his chest. Hector gasps. His body flinches as the oil hits his skin in a thin stream and dribbles down his rim with a wet, dripping noise. 

“Sssssshhhhhh,” Isaac soothes, his thumb rubbing in comforting circles over the bend of his knee. “I’m going to take care of you.” Hector chooses to believe him.

Isaac’s kiss is surprisingly tender. His teeth softly scrape over Hector’s lips as his body yields for his fingers, prodding, rubbing, stretching until he writhes. His hips roll in time with each thrust, moaning and panting so hard he can barely _think_.

“Isaac, please. _More_.” He manages not to trip over his own words as they stumble from his mouth. Hector counts it a small miracle that he doesn’t.

He peppers Isaac's lips with needy little kisses while his partner discretely slips out of his pants, his breath laced with whispered pleas of the other man's name. His legs coil around Isaac's bare hips as he aligns himself with his hole, pulling him flush, his body so ready that it _aches_. Isaac goes rigid against him, he shoots Hector a scalding glare.

"Please." Hector withers under the scrutiny, legs growing slack as they unfurl from their serpent-like constriction. The way Isaac looms over him makes him squirm against the sheets. Oiled up fingers curl around the swell of his cock and finally, _finally_ Isaac thrusts into him. The sound that it tears from Hector is filthy, loud and desperate as it bounces off the castle walls. He turns his head away, face smothered against his arm as the crown of it disappears between his spread thighs. 

Hector grinds his teeth together as Isaac pushes deeper, further, torturously slow and intended for him to feel every inch of it. He moans softly at the cool hand at his face, fingers brushing across his cheek in calming patterns. Isaac watches him and waits, waits for his creased features to untense minutely, waits for his nostrils to stop flaring and the clench in his jaw to soften. Only then, does he allow himself to slowly turn Hector's face and take stock of the mess that he's made.

Hector can barely keep his eyes open. His eyes are unfocused, glossed over with how he strains to concentrate on a single point. His breathing sounds wet and ragged as it stutters past his parted lips. Isaac nudges them ever so slightly past the halfway point and Hector _whimpers_. His toes curl in on themselves. His bound hands clench in a hopeless attempt to grasp at something. The need to soothe overtakes Isaac then, something brittle and foreign that flickers weakly in the vicinity of his heart. Isaac does not know how to act upon it and the very air seems to freeze inside his lungs, crystalizing to ice and filling the spaces between his ribs. 

"Isaac." Hector's voice shakes him from his turmoil, blue eyes wide and pleading, body fighting against its bonds to get closer to _him_ . Not some fair-skinned nobleman, or a damsel with ample curves, but _him_.

Hector folds his legs around Isaac, surprised at how easily the other man follows when he pulls him down. His breath leaves him in a sharp grunt as Isaac pushes past the widest part at the base, sheathing himself to the hilt. It is nearly dizzying, the way Isaac’s body molds against his own as if he were liquid, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, hips slotted until there is no space left between them. 

His dark skin feels supple, nourished with the oil that he uses to battle the dry air in the castle. Hector smooths his nose behind the hinge of Isaac’s jaw and catches a whiff of its subtle scent; shea oil laced with cardamom, warm, fiery, grounding like the man above him. His lips eventually find Isaac’s and Hector kisses him with the hunger of a dying man, eager and ravishing as if his very essence tethers him to the earth.

Isaac sets a languid pace, grinds into Hector until the other man is rocking against him. The air around them seems to thicken as it settles into a syrupy haze, slow and liquid, like hot caramel, perfumed with the scent of sweat, sex and exotic spices.

Time becomes a muddled, blurry thing that barely manages to register in the back of Hector’s mind. It slips from his fingers just as easily as if he were trying to hold onto seafoam, lost between the heated push and pull of their bodies, like waves that roll onto the shore in an endless rhythm. 

Tangles of silver hair float about his face with each thrust of Isaac’s hips, sweat making their bodies sticky where they touch. It’s good, _so good_ , yet nearly not enough to push him over the edge. He is left hanging almost cruelly, completion just outside of his reach.

Hector makes a needy sound and squeezes his thighs around the other man, praying that it will get his desires across. Isaac’s hips nearly slow down to a halt and Hector wants to _scream_ his frustration across the room, loud enough for the entire castle to hear. His eyes fly open and he fixes Isaac with a desperate look.

“Please,” he pleads. “Bite me. I want you to.”

The answering smile against his skin is a vicious thing.

“ _Please_ , Isaac.” He strains his neck in a barely disguised offering, granting the other man better access. The wordless _give me something so I’ll remember this was real_ , hangs insistently in the air.

Hector jerks against the other man with a shout, eyes screwed shut as Isaac bites him hard enough to _bruise_ . The sharp pain of it sings along his nerves like an electric charge. Isaac keeps him there, balanced atop the crumbling edge between torment and pleasure until his head spins. He digs his heels into Isaac’s thighs, feet scrambling for purchase against the building arch in his spine. Hector feels like he’s about to _burst_ , like a glass put under so much pressure until it shatters.

“ _I’m close_ ,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. “ _Fuck_ , I’m so close.”

Isaac worms a hand between them, fingers squeezing around the weeping head of Hector’s cock. He spreads his other palm over Hector’s abdomen and twists his wrist once, twice. Hector comes with a guttural roar and it drags Isaac down with him. It’s like watching a storm approach, all-consuming and as inescapable as death itself. Isaac presses himself impossibly close to Hector, hard enough for it to hurt as his composure falters and slips away from his grasp. It wrings him dry, milks him of the last drop until he feels spent and boneless. He pulls out unceremoniously and pants heavily against the side of Hector’s neck, willing his lungs to stop burning for air.

The firm, solid form of the other man beneath him is grounding, his scent a calming balm to the frayed edges of his mind. Isaac breathes him in, savors Hector’s ruined state as he soothes over the crescent-shaped bruise with his tongue. 

“Why must you always reduce me to such a mess,” Hector huffs, sated as he leans into the ministrations of Isaac’s mouth. Isaac nips at his throat just to spite him.

  


* * *

  


Hector is unsure how long exactly he’s been drifting between sleep and wakefulness. The sudden lack of heat and proximity to the other man’s body eventually stirs him from his quasi-slumber. Isaac must have slipped free from his arms as soon as he suspected him to be asleep. Hector rubs a hand over his tired eyes and tries not to think of why that particular thought makes his stomach churn with something bitter and acrid, why it leaves his hands yearning to fill the empty space that lingers between them.

Hector hoists himself upright, wincing a little at the aches that have settled in his body now that he’s clear of head. Isaac is as he had half expected perched atop the edge of the bed, his broad back turned towards Hector and halfway through the process of getting himself dressed. It is not entirely unfamiliar to Hector. Isaac has never been one to linger, he knows that. There were instances when he would wake up entirely alone. Though he can appreciate Isaac’s sense of practicality, his detached sense of aloofness, he simply wishes it wouldn’t _hurt_ so fucking much. 

“Come back to bed.” It is said without thinking, before he can assess his thoughts and second guess himself about what he’s saying, the words pouring from the chasm in his chest and straight to his mouth.

“Why?” Isaac prickles at the request. “Why would you will it to be anything more, other than what it is? We _fucked_ , Hector. What more is there to want?” He nearly spits the last few words, frustrated and failing to comprehend the inner workings of Hector’s head. _It is safer this way, a kiss can be more lethal than the blade._

“Can I show you?” A hand settles over Isaac’s shoulder then, warm, familiar, prompting him to meet the other man’s gaze. 

“Are you going to hold a knife to my throat, Hector?" Isaac asks him, his russet stare confronting the other man head-on. "Will you claw my eyes out when I’m not looking?” If Hector even notices the tense set of his jaw or the way his shoulders stiffen protectively, he says nothing of it. Isaac's fingers twitch against the sheets, itching for the familiar grip of his dagger. 

Ever the blind fool, Hector ignores the signs in favor of Isaac’s lips. His hands gently cup the sides of Isaac’s face, careful as if he’s afraid to scare him away and it renders Isaac helpless. Each soft kiss to his mouth is even more disarming than the next, each tentative touch a searing burn as much as it is a balm. _Such a dangerous thing, this terrible softness._ Isaac begs for God to forgive him, because he was about to dive head-first into it.

Hector does not tell Isaac that he loves him, does not dare to feed him such honeyed lies because he knows them not to be true. _I love you, that is why I hurt you. I love you, that is why I degrade you. This is how I show you my love._

“Please, stay with me.” Hector pleads to him, and the way it sounds nothing short of a prayer is not lost on Isaac. Hector’s mouth tastes like the sound of his own name. Like a litany sealed against his lips he repeats it to Isaac over and over, as if he were paying worship to a higher deity. The words burrow under Isaac’s ribs, carve out a home for them to live in the hollow space between his lungs. It is similar yet different from the heat they’d known mere moments ago, less like a wildfire and more like the embers left in its wake. When Hector reclines against the silk, Isaac goes down with him, follows him willingly and allows the other man to make him feel held and cared for in return. 

Hector welds himself to Isaac’s side afterward, his legs tucked under Isaac’s knees until they fit together perfectly. Isaac holds him close, buries his face in the other man’s ashen hair where their scents still linger, soaks up the smoldering warmth of his skin until he thinks he might drown in it. 

His hands trace idle patterns over the rope imprints on Hector’s skin, fingers mapping out a path by touch alone. Hector follows his movements as he goes, observes the way he lingers a little too long over the bruises on his neck and hips for it to be insignificant, watches how he strokes the expanse of olive skin as if it were something treasured. The air suddenly becomes heavy with a pregnant truth that neither of them dares to speak. 

“I need to _hear_ you say it.” Hector murmurs to Isaac’s ribs, as if he’s reluctant to break the easy quiet that has settled over them. “We don’t need to put a name to it. I just need to know it means something.”

Isaac curls a finger under the cusp of Hector’s chin, fixes him with a heavy-lidded stare. “You belong to me. There will be no other,” he whispers against Hector’s lips because it’s the truth.

_And I am yours._

  


**Author's Note:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Had your heart broken? Let me know!
> 
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